Never Enough
by youroctober
Summary: SSxHP. Severus feels that he simply was never enough for his former lover. This is a one-shot.


**Never Enough**

This is another one-shot about Harry and Severus. Oh goodness, there's no sex! My first story without a graphic, sexual scene. I really felt that it would have been out of place. Yes, I know, I've been writing many sad stories lately, but what can I say? The mood has taken me. I'd also like to say that the line about birds protecting their nests comes from one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, Macbeth. Thank you for reading, and please review if the mood strikes you. Enjoy.

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If it had been a wedding, he would have protested. If the priest had asked the gathered audience if anyone opposed what was about to take place, he would have jumped to his feet and yelled until his voice grew hoarse. No, he did not want this to happen. To do so much as conceive this atrocity was unthinkable, and for it to actually happen was painful beyond words.

But this was not a wedding, it was a funeral, and the priest would not be asking such questions. He continued to speak in a drone, articulating various prayers, until Severus had had enough. He could hardly breathe, and though he blamed it on the heat, the fact of the matter was that he was being suffocated by his own heavy emotions. He could not stand here and eye that coffin, nor could he be among these horrible people. Why were they crying? Because their saviour was dead? Were they frightened because now that their hero was gone, there was no one left to defeat the Dark Lord?

Lip curling downwards in disgust, Severus made up his mind. He stood abruptly and passed the row of knees next to him, oblivious of the disgruntled voices that reached his ear. He then began to walk down the aisle, heads turning at the sound of his footsteps echoing on the polished floor. The priest's speech did not falter, for which Severus was grateful. He was nearly jogging by the time he reached the oak doors, and as he pushed them open, a burst of light swept into the church. The doors slowly creaked behind him as he left; before long they were shut tight.

He smelled freshly cut grass as he stood on the stairs, shading his eyes with a single hand. A few children were riding down the street on bicycles, and a dog was barking to his left. It was a beautiful day outside, and yet for all its glory he could not summon an ounce of happiness within himself.

He sat on the steps and thought grimly of the days that had passed since Harry's untimely death. As the boy's lover, he had stood by his coffin, accepting sympathy from the grieving guests. Tissues had been scrunched in each of their hands, and their eyes had all been puffy and red. He, however, had been standing tall, accepting their kind words with grace. Though most of them were fake, and many were spoken with a hint of bitterness or sarcasm, it was to be expected. Not all of them were accepting of his former relationship with Harry.

Severus knew that it would not do to sit around the church all day. He rose and began to walk down the street, unaware of where he was headed. He knew that he must make a funny sight: out in the middle of the day, in the bright summer heat, clothed in a heavy cloak. When he tired of walking, he looked around suspiciously, and saw that the only person in proximity was a man watering his lawn. A second later Severus had Apparated back home.

His house was small and sparsely furnished, though the walls were decorated with an elaborate wallpaper: golden flowers twisting their roots around goblets. Severus had never been quite sure of the symbolism behind this, and he had never asked his parents for fear of being hit. His mother in particular had taken pleasure in physically punishing him whenever he displeased her, and asking questions usually had her slapping him in an instant.

Severus sank into a dining chair and decided against turning on a light. He would be heading to bed soon anyways, though it was barely one in the afternoon. He had been keeping to his bed lately, mulling over Harry's death. It was ridiculous, somehow, to waste the life that he was lucky enough to still have. But he couldn't help it.

Harry had been a foolish boy those last few hours, trying to protect his godfather from death. The very thought of Voldemort luring him there with those visions sent a feeling of utter sickness through Severus' being. It had been his job, after all, to teach him Occlumency, and he had failed. Harry was dead, and now he was alone, and it was entirely his fault.

He was furious with the Dark Lord, though he couldn't show it for fear of dying. He knew that when the man was raging he took life away, and yet there had been nothing to trigger his sudden attack. Severus had not heard any planning, and he was lead to believe that the visions he had sent Harry and the attack at the Ministry had been a spur of the moment ordeal. Things had also been going very well for him these past weeks, and so Voldemort could not have been furious to the point of trying to kill the young wizard and his friends. But he had, and now Harry, Luna Lovegood and Ron Weasley were all dead.

It brought pain to his heart that he hadn't noticed what was going to happen, and yet even as he thought back on the past month, he could not think of why the Dark Lord had done such a thing. Had Voldemort's actions been unplanned and unprovoked? It was not his style, but it was all that made sense to Severus.

He longed to change their positions. He wished that he had gone to the Ministry himself and tried his hand at defeating Voldemort. He would have easily duelled with the wizard and died to create a diversion for Harry to escape. Would Harry have left at the sight of Severus risking his life like that? Probably not, but it would have been worth a try.

He cared no longer about keeping his position secret, or protecting his own life, or helping the Order. None of it mattered anymore, because he had failed at his greatest mission: protecting his lover. Even the smallest of birds fought great eagles in hopes of saving their nests. Did Severus have that basic instinct? He doubted it, now that Harry sleeping comfortable in a coffin.

If only he could have protested at the funeral. He would not have kept quiet and forever held his peace, if given the chance: he would have stormed about the place, listing every reason for which Harry should be alive, among which would be arguments such as "He means the world to me" and "I love him".

But it clearly wasn't enough, because the boy was gone. He could protest in his head, in the safety of his bed, but it wasn't good enough. For that was what this was really all about, wasn't it? His Occlumency lessons hadn't been good enough, his skill at teaching hadn't been good enough, his bond with Harry hadn't been strong enough for the boy to come to him and ask for his advice, and now he didn't love him enough to bring him back. It wasn't enough that he thought of the boy night and day, and it certainly wasn't good enough that he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Not only was he not good enough to prevent what had happened, but he also was not adequate to the point of being able to fix any of it. He deserved to die, and he could of course kill himself, but that would never be enough to make up for the crime he had committed.

He simply wasn't good enough, and Harry had deserved the best. He had _needed_ the best, and he hadn't gotten it. He had only gotten Severus, and it had been the death of him.


End file.
